


Weasley Family Stories

by hillnerd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Gen, Parents, romione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25331047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillnerd/pseuds/hillnerd
Summary: Different short stories about the Weasley family- so far all about the Granger-Weasleys but might include others in here. :)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	1. Put a Sickle in the Swear Jar

**Author's Note:**

> CHAPTER RATING- PG
> 
> Ron is having one of those days… (bit of a post-Hogwarts domestic day in the life)
> 
> Any possible triggering/warning tags: one bad swear, blood, allusions to Ron and Hermione doing it.

Ron let their dog Chudley into the back garden, then collapsed onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. The shop had been unaccountably busy for a Thursday, and almost half their staff were out sick with Fwooper Flu, including George. He had a few investor meetings, a Ministry contractor for their Defense products, and had to simultaneously man the floor of their flagship shop so it wouldn’t be a complete disaster when his meetings convened.

As it always was when a shop was lean staffed, his work shift produced the worst customers in the world. Each was _‘talk to the manager’_ types: high maintenance and generally unpleasant.

The very worst was a dad who had let his terror of a four-year-old go wild through the shop. He started his visit by setting off five decoy detonators in the potions aisle, then poured love potion into the pygmy puff enclosure, and ended it by licking the outside of the glass case full of sweets.

The kid’s dad had a ‘never tell your child the word no’ policy in place. He made quite a stink when Ron dared to use the dreaded word to his child when the blighter sprinted around the shop and nearly toppled a full display case of fart sprays. Ron was only lucky they had left the shop by the time his meetings started.

He had to do his meetings on the sales floor, but it gave him a chance to show off a new prototype. He set the Secrecy Spellorator down and it created a field about two meters wide where no one could hear them ‘plan mischief.’ It even turned the volume down to noises outside the field ‘so as not to distract you from your pranking plans.’ Ron explained its alternative uses for Defensive magic and overcrowded offices, and given the way their eyes lit up, Ron could tell the pitch had gone well.

Now all he wanted was some beer or a long nap, neither of which he had proper time for. He needed to pick Hugo up from school and figure out something for dinner. He languidly pulled his arm up to catch the time. Ugh, five minutes more and he might be late.

He slumped up the steps, changed from business robes into his much preferred Muggle clothes, and let the dog back in, before Apparating a few streets away from Hugo’s school. When he arrived, a few of the mothers were gathered and chatting about an upcoming event.

Maybe if he looked busy they wouldn’t try to rope him in… He fished in his pocket for his sporadically used mobile, but realized he’d forgotten it at home.

In moments he was surrounded.

“Ron! We were just talking about you! Weren’t we, Claire?”

“Yes!” she answered with an enthusiastic clap of her hands. Whenever they were talking about him it usually meant manual labour was needed. “We’re doing a school fundraiser the fifteenth and could use your help setting things up. Also, could you bring your bakewell buns? We’ve all been simply craving them since last year!”

His brain went horribly blank of excuses, but he was saved from having to answer by his son.

“Dad!” Hugo cried from across the schoolyard, a giant grin splitting his freckled face. Ron waved at him but blanched when Hugo started running. His overly large backpack wildly swang from one hand, while his puffy jacket flailed like a flag caught in the wind from his other. Ron could see disaster looming.

“Don’t run, Hugh!” Ron hollered. As if time had slowed he watched in horror as the strap of Hugo’s backpack caught his foot, sending the seven-year-old flailing. Normally Ron could have prevented a painful crash with his wand, but with all the mums about him he couldn’t pull his wand out in time.

Hugo face-planted straight into the ground, his giant thud pulling a chorus of high-pitched gasps from the mothers.

Ron sprinted to his son who was whimpering and not moving.

“Shhh now, you’re okay, little man,” Ron said, trying his best to sound calm as he removed the backpack from around Hugo’s ankle and turned him over.

“Oh shit!” Ron let out. His son’s large brown eyes filled with tears, and his mouth overflowed with blood. His chin looked to be split open as well. “Merlin! Er, okay, Hugh, we’re gonna get you to a healer, but I need to carry you ‘round the corner so the Muggle mums don’t see us Apparate, okay?”

“You- you g-gotsta put a sssickle in the sssswear jar,” Hugo managed to lisp, before breaking into a wail as he saw the blood hit the ground.

Ron scooped up his son, somehow managing to hold the backpack and jacket as well.

The mums all had a variety of questions as he tore down the street, but he simply yelled over his shoulder that his car was round the corner. Checking about him, he Apparated them to St Mungo’s waiting room.

He vaguely recognized the lady behind the check-in desk. Her glare jogged his memory. He might’ve yelled at her a year or two prior…

“My- my son. He fell, and —”

Her glare softened after noticing Hugo’s cries and the blood soaking through Ron’s jacket. Cleared of blood by the healers Ron was infinitely grateful to not be Muggle. Chipped teeth, split lip and lacerated chin… The kid was a mess! Hugo was healed in just a few minutes, leaving him with only a small plaster for his chin he’d need with a topical ‘scar-begone’ potion for a few days.

“Do you have any plasters with brooms on them?” Hugo asked, feet kicking against the exam table.

The healer shook their head.

“Trains?”

“Just beige, I’m afraid,” the healer said with an apologetic smile.

“Dragons?”

“Hugo, we have some at home,” Ron said, knowing Hugo would continue to name things if he wasn’t stopped. “Plus we have some ice cream with your name on it!”

Hugo let out a cheer. They took the Floo home, as Ron was far too tired and rattled to be Apparating with his son.

Ron and Hugo were working on their second helpings of ice cream when Hermione arrived home via Floo.

“Hello boys,” she said, before stopping in her tracks. “Ice cream? Ron, it’s not even five-thirty!”

“We deserve it, believe me.”

“We deserve it, Mum!” Hugo repeated, with a chocolate smeared grin. “Believe me!”

Ron told her about the day they’d each had, and Hugo was happy to inform her how ‘Dad hadn’t put his sickle in the swear jar yet.’ He also was in dire need of a better plaster for his chin.

By the end of the tale she had a cautiously amused look on her face, and went to get their boxes of plasters.

“Okay, Hugo, looks like we have trains or dragons.”

“Both!”

“Choose one.”

“But Mum, I deseeeerve it, believe me!” Hugo said, a pleading look on his face.

She and Ron traded smiles over his curly head.

“Just today, because you were so brave at the hospital.”

“Gryffindor!” Hugo declared, before running after the dog, two plasters on his chin.

“How are you after all those adventures?” she asked, cuddling into Ron’s side.

“Better now that you’re home,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “You okay with ice cream for dinner?”

“Not my first choice, but I’ll manage.” She smiled at him. “Ginny should have Rose back from Quidditch practice soon.”

“Can I feed her ice cream too?” he moaned, closing his eyes.

“You don’t have to. She’s eating with Ginny and the kids.”

“Thank Merlin, because I feel like I’ve been pulled through a keyhole backwards.”

“Oh, I guess that means we can’t…” Hugo ran by and Hermione stopped herself. “Can’t _‘you know,’_ tonight.”

“Can’t… Oh right! _That!”_

He felt a bit chagrined that they had to schedule it ahead, but the past few weeks hadn’t allowed for much spontaneity.

“Honestly…” he sighed, before looking sideways at his beautiful wife and slowly smiling. “I’ll manage.”

“We _deserve_ it,” she grinned.

“It’ll be boring and passionless,” he teased, leaning in to plant a kiss on her neck, lingering a bit too long.

She shivered in pleasure. “Of course.”

“You won’t even have to put a silencing spell up,” he said before kissing her more deeply. “Over in five minutes.”

“I’ll prepare myself for the disappointment,” she purred. “Twice.”

_“Twice?”_ he asked with a disbelieving look. She stared at him quite seriously before she broke and began laughing.

“Can you imagine?” she giggled.

“After the day I had?”

“On a school night?”

“Twice?!” they repeated, laughing and snorting,

There came a great crash from the other room. Hugo shouted ‘I’m ok!’ while Chudley barked. Ron began to get up, but Hermione pulled him back down to the couch.

“Don’t forget to put a sickle in the swear jar,” she said as she rose, going to check on their chaotic son.


	2. Puppies for Sale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron goes to pick up the kids from the Burrow, which should be an easy thing- but there are puppies for sale down the road. Domestic Weasley-Granger family fluff.
> 
> Chapter Rating: PG- would be G but Ron curses :P

“Mum, I’m here!” called Ron, as he stepped out of the floo to his childhood home, spelling away the soot before he tromped it all over and got an ear-full for it. The Burrow always remained the same, the only sign of the passage of time was the people inside, and the occasional photo or children’s artwork being changed out on the walls. A fragrant baking smell wafted through the house, and he could faintly hear the sound of children laughing. 

“In the kitchen, dear!”

He happily trounced over to see what his Mum had been baking, hoping she wasn’t saving it for anyone. He hadn’t gotten in much of a lunch and his stomach was fiercely growling.

“Something smells good.”

“Fig rolls,” she said with a satisfied smile. Like his dad and all the rest of their older redheaded relatives, her hair wasn’t graying, just fading into a pale rose color with little white streaks here and there. “You look hungry. Help yourself to some rolls and a glass of milk.”

Ron gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking a still warm fig roll from the plate and quickly tucking in. He gave an appreciative sigh. “Can you write up the recipe for these?”

She took out a card from her recipe box and quickly duplicated it onto a spare slip of parchment. 

“How was the shop?”

“Chaos as usual,” he said, wiping some crumbs from his beard. “But we’ve been working on some ideas recently that really have potential in defense and business markets, so I’m feeling rather good about that… Where are the kids at?”

“With your father near his shed. Don’t worry, I don’t let them go inside it!” 

Ron furtively rolled his eyes. No matter how many times they all assured her of the shed’s safety, she remained staunchly convinced that everything in there could spring to life with ‘ekeltrickedy’ and murder any visitors. Why she thought only her husband could survive the death trap was beyond him, but he knew better than to question her at this point. 

“Thanks for the food and the recipe! I’ll take a whack at it after the Halloween rush,” he said, heading out to find the children.

His dad was sitting in a Muggle folding camp chair Hermione had gifted him. He’d been giddy about it for months, and took it out so regularly it got banned from the house itself after he’d set it up in the dining room one too many times.

“Watch out, you might be accosted soon,” he warned Ron, twitching his head near the garden wall. There stood a few lean-tos, made from pieces of apple boxes, sticks, and decorated with a great deal of leaves. Magic was surely holding them in place, because they looked incredibly structurally unsound.

“Halt!” cried Rose, jumping from behind a tree. She jabbed a wand-shaped stick in Ron’s direction as he approached. “This is our society!”

“Yeah! Our sosety!” Hugo repeated from inside an apple box. He laid on his stomach and poked the dirt with his ‘wand.’

“It’s society,” Rose harshly whispered at her brother, making Ron shake his head at her tone. She sounded just like Hermione when she’d been a snooty first year. He’d have to work on that with her. Last thing he wanted was his little girl getting bullied for the same stuff her mother had. If Hugo had seemed at all upset Ron would have intervened, but instead Hugo had a gleeful grin on his face.

“SOCIETY!” Hugo boldly bellowed, pointing his own ‘wand,’ before laughing and flapping his hands in excitement. 

“Careful now. Don’t put your eye out,” Ron said, flicking his wand to keep the flailing stick away from Hugo’s face, narrowly avoiding an accident. 

“We made our own society!” Rose proclaimed. “You need to ask permission to come in.”

“Ah, well, may I enter your society?”

It wasn’t that hard to get into their society. Rose immediately took him by the hand and started giving a tour.

“Over there is our ministry, and a museum, and over here is the hospital, and over there the jail. Hugo’s been there a lot.”

“Oh? Now why is that?” Ron asked, looking over to his dad in concern. He didn’t want Hugo being picked on.

“He just liked that box the most,” Dad replied for them, as Rose had lost interest in the tour and was decorating the ministry roof with more leaves. “Rosie dubbed it a jail, and Hugo didn’t much care until she said it’s where ‘bad men go’. There was a spot of caterwauling about that, but then he found he’d rather be in a spacious apple box jail instead of the other buildings that were so cramped and falling over. Also, no spider webs in the jailhouse.”

“There are spiders in these?” Ron asked, voice going high. He began to tromp towards the ‘museum.’

“No no, only webs,” Dad laughed, patting Ron on the arm.

Not feeling as amused about the society Rose had created, he announced, “alright, kids. Time to wrap it up and head home.”

“No! We can’t go home yet!” Rose yelled, accidentally knocking her precarious ministry decorations to the ground as she ran over. “We were supposed to go look at puppies!”

“Daddy, we hafta see the puppies! We hafta!” Hugo whined, shimmying along his belly to work his way out of the apple box. 

“Puppies?” Ron repeated.

“The Watsons have some puppies down the road,” said Dad, polishing his glasses. “They have them for sale right now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Nooo, they might all be sold and gone by then!” Rose practically wailed, her face starting to turn red. Hugo’s brown eyes started to fill with tears at the idea.

Ron gave a sigh and looked to his father, who gave a shrug. He’d never hear the end of it if they didn’t get to see them.

“The Watsons…” Ron asked. “They’re the ones to the West with the goats?”

“That’s right.”

“Pleeeease can we see the puppies, Daddy?” Hugo asked, pulling at Ron’s trouser leg. 

Unable to think of a reason to disappoint his children, Ron promptly told them yes. He made sure to bundle them up, as a crisp fall wind had picked up, then the three of them walked to the Watsons’ small farm.

Sure enough along the dirt country road was a cardboard sign stating ‘puppies for sale.’ Rose read the sign out loud for Hugo, and Ron had to quickly grab their hands before they dashed into the property. He helped them over the cattle guard, then walked them to the barn door where he could see old Mrs Watson shaking out a blanket. She was a stout hardy looking old woman, who had a genial face with deep craggy smile lines all over the place.

“Hello, dears. You must be one of them Weasley boys, aren’t you?” she asked, straightening her apron in a way that reminded him of his mother. Rose politely smiled at her while Hugo quietly hid himself behind Ron’s leg.

“That’s right, Mrs Watson. I’m Ron, Molly and Arthur’s youngest of the boys,” he said with a smile. “And these are mine. Rose and Hugo.”

“Goodness! I remember when you were just a sprout of a thing toddling about behind your other brothers. Can’t believe you’re old enough to have your own children!” She gave a shake of her head then squinted down at Rose and Hugo. “I imagine you want to see some puppies, don’t you?”

“Yes please,” Rose said in a burst of enthusiasm, as Hugo’s hands began to tug at Ron’s trouser leg. 

“Well you go on in. We have them in the birthing stall to the right. Feel free to let yourself into it and pet them, just don’t let them out,” she said. Without prompting Rose hurried into the barn, while Hugo stayed attached to Ron’s leg. “Would you all like some hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“What do you say, Hugh?” Ron asked, craning his neck to see Hugo’s face. 

Hugo pulled his father’s hand until Ron was leaning over, and whispered in his ear, “I wanna have chocolate and puppies.”

“You can do both,” Ron assured him, in a low voice. Hugo gave a small smile.

“Hot chocolate sounds lovely, Mrs Watson, thank you.”

“Alright me lovers, you go see puppies and I’ll have some hot chocolate in no time!” she said with a kindly look at Hugo.

Once Mrs Watson was gone Hugo enthusiastically pulled Ron into the barn, with Ron stooped the whole way. 

Rose had waited outside the pen, though Ron wasn’t sure if it was for Hugo’s sake or because she wasn’t sure how to open the two-way gate latch. 

Toddling about the hay were seven or so adorable fluffy puppies, some black and some brown. Rose and Hugo immediately were all giggles and squeals, kneeling down and enthusiastically getting investigated by the curious pups. They spent a long time getting licked and playfully nipped at, and Ron felt immensely grateful he’d decided to let them visit the pups, despite one chewing on his shoelaces and another whizzing on him. He surreptitiously spelled it away, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Oooooh, look at its little paws!” Rose cooed, holding one in her lap, not noticing it enthusiastically teething her messy braid. 

“I like this one!” Hugo said, holding a much more calm pup, who looked smaller than the rest of them. It happily nuzzled into Hugo’s arms.

“I have some hot chocolate here,” said Mrs Watson, bringing over some throw away mugs with plastic lids. “Figured if you couldn’t drink it all, you could bring it home for later.”

“Quite thoughtful, thank you,” said Ron, accepting the drinks, noting the kids had little enthusiasm for anything but the puppies still. Not wanting to be rude, he stayed next to Mrs Watson to chat, while the kids continued to play.

“How are your mother and father doing?” she asked.

“Mum’s still cooking away, Dad’s still working, but they watch the grandkids a lot. That’s why we’re here today.”

“How many grandkids are there now?”

“Hard to keep count!” he said with a smile. “But I think it’s... twelve now? I don’t think I’m leaving anyone out.”

“Christmas must be spectacular!”

“A bit crowded, but yeah, it’s quite nice.”

“I’m sure it is. I only have two grandchildren, but I love it when they visit. Had them up last weekend to get one of the puppies. Started with twelve puppies, same as your family, but now all are spoken for but one.”

“Which one?”

“The littlest one, but that Clark White down the road’s been saying he might come by to get one.”

Ron bristled a bit. He remembered Mr White, a sinister old bugger of a man. He never tended his fences, was always in disputes with neighbors, and his animals all had a forlorn look about them. 

Just then there was a brisk knock on the barn door, and in came the man himself, looking surly as ever. He resembled a dried fig that had been bleached by the sun, and his thin lips were turned down in a permanent frown that only served to emphasize his jowls. He and Mrs Watson exchanged pleasantries, though neither looked particularly pleased about it. 

“Which ones are available still?” 

“I’m afraid only one,” answered Mrs Watson.

“Ain’t the runt, is it?” He snorted.

“It is, but he’s a hardy little thing. I doubt he’ll end up much smaller than the rest of the pups when he’s grown.”

The old man peered into the stall, and pointed a gnarled finger.

“That’s it, yeah?” 

Hugo looked up at the old man and his eyes widened. He clutched the little puppy closer to himself. 

“That’s the puppy, yes.” 

Without preamble he opened the stall door and reached toward the puppy in Hugo’s arms. 

“Now wait a second,” Ron began, but it was too late.

Hugo gave a small cry and the dog gave a sharp yipe, jerked by the scruff of his neck by the savage Mr White. Rose looked to her father with pleading blue eyes. Hugo let out a sob and buried his face in Rose’s stomach. 

“Looks healthy enough,” Mr White said, roughly opening the puppy’s mouth to inspect its teeth. “I’ll take—”

“We’ll take him!” Ron cried out. Rose gasped, while Hugo kept his face safely tucked into his sister. 

“What?” Mr White snapped, his severe face contorting into a nasty mix of shock and rage. Ron used the man’s surprise to pluck away the puppy and bring it to his own chest.

Ron found it hard not to smirk at the old sour faced prune. “I said, we’re taking him.”

“Really?!” Rose cried out, patting her brothers russet curls. “Hugo! It’s ok! Daddy’s getting the puppy!”

“I’ll give you five hundred cash, right now,” said Mr White, reaching into his mangy work coat to bring a wad of Muggle paper money out.

Ron’s self assured smile began to falter when he realized he wasn’t sure if he had any Muggle money on him. He patted himself, but realized there was no wallet. He didn’t have so much as two pence on him, just some knuts and galleons he decidedly could not give Mrs Watson. Panic reeled as his daughter looked at him with nothing but confidence in her beaming freckled face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr White, but I’m afraid the puppy’s spoken for already,” said Mrs Watson, shaking her head. “Plus, as you said, it’s the runt. I’m just trading it for a few of Molly Weasley’s pies.”

“You’re joking,” Mr White snarled. “This is ridiculous! I told you I wanted one last week!”

“Well you never said which one, that I recall, but my memory’s not what it used to be… Sorry to disappoint you, Clarke,” she said with a large smile. 

He gave an ugly look at them all before stomping out of the barn and slamming the door behind him. Hugo’s hands went to his ears and he further buried his face in Rose’s stomach. Not wanting to overwhelm Hugo further, Ron turned to Mrs Watson.

“I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” he said, with an apologetic look.

“Oh it’s no trouble. Any excuse to slight Clarke White makes my day a little bit brighter, truth be told.”

“Well, I can’t let you give away the puppy for a few pies. How much is the pup, really?”

“Well, I’ve been asking three hundred. They’re purebred, good guard stock, with all their shots and de-worming and such. But I meant what I said. You just have two of Molly’s pies here some time before Christmas and we’ll call it quite even.”

“I’ll make sure you have them whenever you want. Thank you, Mrs Watson. And I’ll add in something more than just the pies,” Ron said, before slowly approaching the children. 

Rose was still stroking Hugo, whose hands were firmly stuck to his ears. Ron knelt down and brought the puppy up between them. “Let’s sit down and sip our hot chocolate, and pet this new puppy of ours. We don’t have to deal with that mean, scary old man again, I promise you.”

It took some coaxing, but Hugo finally removed his hands and stroked the puppy’s fluffy little head, worrying the ear of the dog between his fingers. After some more calming down they drank most of their hot chocolate, bid Mrs Watson a fond goodbye (she was kind enough to give him a collar and enough kibble for a few days), and walked back to the Burrow, puppy buried in Ron’s coat. Even being a ‘runt’ and ten weeks old it was too heavy for the kids to carry for long.

Both his mother and father shook their heads at him for buying the puppy, but he didn’t want to bring up Mr White in front of the children so held his tongue. They flooed home, and Ron set about making a nesting box for the pup. Hugo and Rose were eager to help make it as cozy as they could with long abandoned stuffed animals and blankets. 

“What should we name him?” Ron asked them, as the little pup sleepily walked in a circle before toppling onto his side to sleep.

“Broomstick,” said Hugo.

“Quaffle,” Rosie offered.

“I’m sensing a theme…” said Ron, looking about the nearest shelf for a quidditch book. “Perhaps we can name him after a famous quidditch player?”

“We could name him after Aunt Ginny!” 

“He’s a boy, though,” Rose protested. 

“Names are just names, they don’t have to be ‘boy or girl’ names,” Ron supplied, remembering an article Hermione’d given him to read about it a few years prior. “But I don’t think Aunt Ginny wants to share her name with a dog.”

“Why not name him after Viktor Krum?” Rose said with a smile. 

Ron couldn’t deny the idea of having his dog named Krum wouldn’t be that bad, but then again he didn’t want to deal with Hermione’s wrath should she find it insulting.

“Hmm… Someone we don’t know?” he prompted.

“The Cannons!” Hugo crowed. “Wait I know!”

“Chudley!” they all three chorused together.

Ron gave a hearty laugh that made Chudley open his eyes before promptly falling asleep again. “You definitely are my children!”

Hugo lettered, with help from Rose, Chudley’s name across the side of the box. Only one of the letters was backwards, which was quite the accomplishment. Rose decorated it with a variety of stickers and hand drawn flowers, stars and Cannons logos.

Hermione owled to say she was running late. He would have preferred the ‘we have a dog now’ reveal to happen with the children present so she couldn’t give him as much of an earful, but her schedule had been quite mad at the Ministry recently.

The children were exhausted from all the excitement, so he managed to get them fed, bathed and asleep early and without much fuss. 

Ron put on the radio, sat on the sofa and took out a notebook to make some notes for the Wheezes marketing campaign for Halloween. Chudley was curled up in his box with old Crookshanks curiously peering down from the hearth.

“You be nice, you old ginger bastard,” Ron said with a warning look. Crookshanks turned his yellow glare at Ron before jumping from the hearth onto the sofa, butting his head against Ron’s leg. He rolled over to show his old pudgy tummy. 

“Oh I know that’s a trap! But nice try,” said Ron, remembering quite vividly the last time a vindictive Crookshanks had pretended to want tummy rubs. 

The flames of the fire brightened, and he smiled knowing Hermione would be home in a moment. Crookshanks quickly schooled himself into a ‘good cat’ position for her, giving Ron the opportunity to rub the cat’s fur the wrong way tail to head.

“That’s what happens when you try to trick me into getting stabbed by your claws.”

Hermione flooed into the house, and a smile curled his lips. He hated when she was kept at work longer, but the one silver lining was that it always led to her hair going a bit mussed and wild. Today was not an exception. 

“Hello, love,” he murmured, eyeing the ringlets around her face. “Did you already eat? I have Hugo’s favorite ‘spagooters’ ready and can heat it up in a jiff.”

She gave a tired but contented smile and collapsed onto the sofa beside him, giving Crookshank’s chin a scratch as the cat purred and preened for her, pitifully meowing for attention.

“We should call it spaghetti. I don’t want Hugo learning the wrong words for things.”

“Hugh knows it’s spaghetti,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Plus there’s nothing funnier than seeing that look on your face when we chant for spagooters.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see them tonight... It was horrible at work. That abuse allegation mess I was telling you about last week is really coming to a head and some of those damn Wizengamots are just… I thought I couldn’t be shocked anymore by anything awful that happens, but then they really just prove they can sink to an even lower level than I’d ever thought possible! The way they sit there and act like over one hundred and fifty allegations of abuse is nothing is beyond me. They’re so bloody corrupt and uncaring I’m left truly shocked and speechless!”

Despite being speechless, she was able to rant about the Wizengamot for another fifteen minutes. While she ranted, he managed to get her shoes off, find out she had not eaten, and bring a meal. She ate around the ‘spagooters’ while nearly flinging tomato basil sauce onto his shirt as she gesticulated about the injustices in the world. 

“So is there anything in place for victims?” Ron asked, taking her plate into the kitchen.

“You mean for victim support?” He nodded at her. “Nothing official yet, but I’m seeing what we can do. The Wizengamot has many in denial of there actually being victims, let alone that they need help and counseling.”

“Maybe we can figure something outside of the Ministry. Perhaps we could do a fund or something through Wheezes? I could talk to some other businesses or something... Have the proceeds go to some foundation or other?”

“That’s a lovely idea,” she said with a small sniff. 

He leaned over the couch and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll talk to George in the morning.”

Chudley’s box gave a bit of a shudder and she finally noticed it.

“What’s that?” she asked looking over to the box.

“Er…” His hand went to the back of his neck. “That would be Chudley.”

“I gathered that much, since Chudley’s written on the outside of the box,” she said, raising her eyebrow at him and walking over to peer inside the box. “Ron…”

“So… I didn’t get a chance to ask if this is alright, but I bought us a puppy.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing as she stared into the box.

Ron felt a small touch of frenzied dread at how quiet she was.

“Normally I wouldn’t make such a big decision without you, but we were with Muggles and this old bleeder Mr White was about to buy it and I just knew he’d be treating it like shit because I’ve known him since I was a kid and he always treats his animals horribly, and the kids were crying as this old man made the puppy cry and buying it was the only way I could save it from him in the moment. I didn’t have my mobile on me, and even if I did I don’t think I could have reached you in time. It all happened really fast, and the kids were looking at me like ‘you can fix this!’ and I just had to, and Hugo had his little hands on his ears and- and if we have to find it a new home I completely understand and will make sure it’s all on me with the kids and not you at all, because this is really truly on me and—”

“Hush,” she said with a small laugh. “I think you’re upsetting Chudley.”

With that she reached into the box and gently cradled the little pup. She rubbed his little snout and scratched behind his ear making the dog’s tiny tail wag something mad.

“So you’re okay with us keeping him?” Ron asked hopefully. She nodded and continued to pet the small pup, who was crawling up her body to lick her jaw. Ron’s face split into a grin. “You won’t have to lift a finger for him. It’ll be me doing everything! Well me and maybe the kids a bit.”

“I can’t turn down a deal like that, can I Chudley?” she asked as the dog continued to lick at her. Crookshanks went to the top of the mantle to glare at them. “Be nice, Crookshanks! From the sound of it he was rescued from a dire situation!”

“He really was. I’m not just making excuses to have a dog.”

“I expect to hear the whole harrowing tale of why we needed to save Chudley later,” she replied, putting the pup in his box before casting a calming spell and accident-proofing his blanket. 

“In bed?”

“I was thinking we could expand the tub tonight and catch up there.” She had a saucy smile on her face he couldn’t resist. He quickly took her hand and they laughed all the way up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not betaed- we die like men :P
> 
> Let me know what you thought! :D


	3. Causeless Rebel- Molly Weasley II & Percy/Audrey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "Do you have any headcanons about Percy and Audrey's daughters? Oddly specific headcanon questions (if you like): what are their favorite animals, and what are the things they do that most annoy their parents?"
> 
> Molly II and Lucy

Dad was reading his paper. Mum was buttering her toast. Lucy was delicately drinking her morning coffee. Molly sat at the table with a loud thump, the buckles of her leather jacket clanking a bit. 

"I cut my hair," Molly announced to the table. 

"I saw," her father hummed, taking a bite of toast he hadn't bothered to put jam on.

"It's nice," her mother said with a smile. "Very tall!"

"It's a mohawk."

"Mmm hmm," said Dad, not bothering to look up at it again. Molly crossed her arms. She'd hoped for more of a response than this.

Lucy rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Teddy's was taller. And blue."

"Well... Well I was considering changing the color. Everyone wants Weasley-red hair, and I'm just as ready to get rid of it. Might dye it."

"Dye it?" her father asked, finally looking over his paper. Oh he thought he was going to dictate to her that she couldn't dye her hair? Well he had another thought coming if— "Red hair doesn't turn out all that well with a lot of different dyes, so you might want to get it done by a professional or something. Your Uncle Bill tried to dye his on his own and it turned the color of sick. If you need me to pay for it, I'm happy to, but you might want to just charm your hair instead. I'm not the best at them, but we can work on it together if you like."

"Oh why do I even BOTHER!" Molly let out, kicking the table leg. 

Her dad was looking at her with a bored expression. "Bother with what?" 

"NEVERMIND!" Molly barked, feeling every long inch of her the fool. Every time she tried to get a rise out of her dad it didn't work. The rest of the meal she pouted and picked at her food. Dad finally folded his paper, cleaned up the kitchen, grabbed his briefcase and kissed each of them on the top of their head as he always did, though he gave a laugh as he had to lean in at a funny angle to kiss Molly on the top of her heavily gelled hair. He Flooed to work, and Molly was left wanting to toss a plate at the wall. 

"What's wrong, _verucca_?" asked Mum, cleaning up the table.

"Maybe I should get a tattoo of a miniature donkey."

"And you're pouting about this because..."

"No matter what I do, someone in this gigantic family has done it first!"

"You know, if you're wanting to rebel, maybe you should ask your father for advice," her mother laughed. "After all, your father is the most rebellious one in the family." 

"No he's not!" Molly scoffed.

Lucy's eyebrows popped in surprise. "He kind of is!"

"How?" 

Her father abided by rules, was polite all the time, dressed like an accountant, and generally was the stuffiest person she knew. 

"Well, while everyone else in the family was getting tattoos, piercings, dressing cool, being loud, playing Quidditch and doing dangerous or fun jobs, your dad was the only one dressing unobtrusively, doing unglamorous work at the Ministry, and is a bit more--"

"Boring?"

"Reserved!" her mother said with a look that made Molly's cheeks turn red. Okay, she'd crossed the line there. "If everyone was 'the cool kid' no one would be. And your dad cuts his own path in a very colorful family."

Molly gave a sullen shrug. She didn't want to admit being wrong quite yet. 

"Well, I have to get going myself. Clean up your dishes, girls. I'll see you later today." Her Mum kissed Lucy on top of the head, then kissed Molly on her forehead, avoiding her hair. "You can probably get this mohawk look with less hair product, yes?"

"Probably..."

Her mother lightly cuffed the back of her head. "Be nice about your dad!" she called before Apparating away.

* * *

Percy gave a sigh as Audrey snuggled up to him, her curls falling across his chest. 

"Molly's really pushing the limits of my patience right now."

"Same here," Audrey laughed. "She truly is embodying a 'rebel without a cause.'"

"That she is. I don't care what she does, I just care that she's actively trying to irritate me?"

"Hmm... Maybe you should feign shock. She might float the idea of getting a miniature donkey tattoo in front of you at breakfast tomorrow."

"A tattoo? Oh horror of horrors! I've never in all my years imagined my daughter wanting to... to..."

"Desecrate her body!"

"Yes! Desecrate her body in such a devious fashion! I am shocked. SHOCKED!"

The two of them folded into one another, laughing.

"Honestly, if she came out wearing a matching pink sweater set, a hair bow and pearls, then I'd actually be shocked and appalled."

"Thank goodness she doesn't know about Umbridge then," Audrey snorted. 

"Two months until Hogwarts... You think this 'causeless rebel' phase will pass soon?"

"If it doesn't, maybe we should send her to your Mum's for a bit. She can get all the shocked reactions she wants then."

"I'd like to enjoy some time with her before school starts," Percy frowned. "Maybe we should send her to the Burrow sooner rather than later."

"This Thursday soon enough?"

"That'll do."


End file.
